


everybody needs an angel (and everybody wants tomorrow right now)

by TittyAlways



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittyAlways/pseuds/TittyAlways
Summary: He was burning, slowly but surely. Smoldering, self-destruction turning to waste. Turning to ash.One day there'd be nothing left, and there would be no reason for anyone to want to need him.





	everybody needs an angel (and everybody wants tomorrow right now)

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: tittyalways  
> tumblr: titty-now-titty-later/tittalways  
> discord: TittyAlways#9367

“Are you feeling alright?” Tyki asked, and Allen was struck for a moment.

Struck dumb.

He looked at Tyki, his face. His liquid gold eyes, halfway teasing and halfway tender. Allen glanced away, a flicker of uncertainty. Of fear. Glanced at Tyki’s fingers, curled into the damp condensation of his glass. To the dark mahogany of the table. Forced himself to look back at Tyki before Tyki realised. Before he saw.

He always saw.

Those taunting eyes always saw.

“What?” Allen demanded, had his brows pinch in something like confusion. In an absolute lack of understanding.

“Are you feeling alright?” Tyki repeated himself. His voice sounded like he didn’t mind. His smile, to Allen, looked condescending.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

One of Tyki’s brows twitched upwards. Hardly a calculated gesture. Hardly a mistake. He lifted his cigarette to his lips, and the smell of it made something churn uncomfortably in the pit of Allen’s stomach. Hot and dirty and rich, and Allen knew the taste of it would linger on his tongue, on his fingers, on his clothes. Allen knew it would mask the smell of his sweat, turn the heady salt of his gentle musk into something sharp.

Exchange one kind of addiction for another.

“Are you feeling,” he enunciated, slow, voice and lips and golden tongue made thick and soft with smoke, sanding down the burr of his low voice, the one that all too easily managed to find its way beneath Allen’s clothes and grate raw against his skin. “Alright.”

It didn’t sound like a question, the way he said it this time.

His smoke-slick voice coated Allen’s body like warm oil poured over his head. A singularly uncomfortable sensation.

“I’m fine,” he said, deepening that furrow between his brows. Let confusion lace his tone, let an unasked question sit in the inarguable certainty of his statement.

Tyki glanced down to his fingers, pushed the last of the smoke past his lips in the ghost of a laugh. He was laughing.

He was laughing at Allen.

The twist of his lips was condescending and a little bit cruel, and the way he glanced up at Allen from beneath his brows with those mocking, molten eyes of his made Allen think of the slinking black alleycat he’d seen watching him from the shadows on his way to the hotel.

 _You’re no better than me,_ those eyes seemed to say. That smile on his lips. _I have nothing, but you have even less._

“It’s just,” he said, reaching out one elegant hand to tap grey flaky ash into the cut-crystal tray in the center of the table. Luxuriating in the small motion, making such a gesture of disregard seem intoxicating. Desirable. He brought the cigarette to his lips, and Allen saw himself in the brief flare of the orange ember. Burning and burning, and the way Tyki pulled at him only dragging him quicker to his grave.

Soon, Tyki would stub him out. Discard him. Smoked down to something sour and toxic, until even a man as despicable as Tyki could find no more use in him.

“You’re wearing the tie I gave you,” he finished, that addictive light of derisive indulgence in his eyes. “Something’s got to be wrong.”

_At least I have my pride._

Allen blinked. Glanced down at his chest. “Oh,” he said, thoughtless, surprised. He reached a hand up, fingered the knot at his throat. Then he laughed. “I forgot you gave this to me,” he lied, and laughed because he knew he could prickle Tyki’s skin just as easily as Tyki could his. Knew his transparent, glossy facade grated in the pit of Tyki’s stomach like shards of glass at the bottom of his cup. “I forgot I was wearing it,” he said, and that part at least was true.

Tyki arched his brow again, this time with a scathing intent behind the subtle action, and washed down that powder-fine irritation with a sip of his drink.

“I was going to say,” Allen grinned, sharp and bright and carefree, and dipped his finger into the ring of condensation Tyki’s glass had left on the polished wood. “Do I really look that terrible.”

Tyki smiled, captivating and deadly as the flicker of a snake’s tongue, and asked, “Now, now. Who’d say such a thing?” while his silent, predatory eyes mapped shameless appreciation across Allen’s face, down his chest, down his arms.

Allen laughed again, because he didn’t have anything to say.

“Really,” Tyki added, pressed, his keen attention catching on the momentary lapse in Allen’s rebuttal, catching the vulnerability in his silence. “Who said that?”

And Allen didn’t have an answer. Smiled a Madonna smile and lifted his hand to his chin, pressed his wet finger against his lips as though it were a secret. Kept his liar’s eyes pinned on Tyki’s and let his silence speak for itself.

He was burning, slowly and surely. Burning like that cigarette hanging like an afterthought between Tyki’s fingers. Tyki would press his lips to Allen, over and again, and eventually there’d only be smoke so vile even an addict wouldn’t breathe it in.


End file.
